


Var Bellanaris

by kaoruyogi



Series: Songs of the Elvhen Torch Companion Works [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Multiple Lavellans, Parent Lavellan, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaoruyogi/pseuds/kaoruyogi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of one-shot taking place during the events of "The Lion by Torchlight," and after "Mir Da'len Somniar." It was meant for Cullavellan Heaven's Cullavellan Week 2016 for the "Sharing Customs" prompt on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Var Bellanaris

**Author's Note:**

> Angst ahead...
> 
> Also, the song included can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAANKFPchtA).

Cullen had never been to the Exalted Plains before then. The rich grassy golden and green landscape was marred by the recent unrest Halise had traveled down several months before to address. She’d been there for about a week before coming back to prepare for the ball at the Winter Palace. Orlesian ramparts and fortresses were still recovering from civil war and the attacks by demons, the undead, and the Freemen of the Dales. Likewise, Halise was still recovering from Rainier’s flight from and return to the Inquisition—though he believed it would be less of a stain on the Inquisition if everyone continued to call him Blackwall—as well as her mother’s recent death.

After telling him about her mother’s passing, Halise told him that the missive from her clan also said several members would be making a pilgrimage to the Exalted Plains to bury the body. Understandably, she wanted to be there. What he hadn’t fully understood was why she wanted him to come with her. Grieving was an extremely personal process, and he had yet to meet a single member of her clan. And her father would be there. Cullen could think of few more inappropriate circumstances to meet his lover’s father than at the funeral of the man’s own wife. But she insisted he come, so he did.

They reached the plains a day ahead of Clan Lavellan. Halise spent the day and the better part of the night carving something from a large oak branch. Cullen tried to get her to accompany him to sleep in their tent, but she simply turned to him with a look that bespoke her sorrow and exhaustion and murmured, “No…It’s okay. I have to finish this.” Without another word or any attention to Cullen’s protest, she turned away, continuing her whittling in stony silence by the fire.

When he awoke the next morning, Halise still was not beside him, though her bedroll had been undone and still bore a modicum of the warmth of her body upon a graze of his sleepily probing hand. He dressed quietly, his final article of clothing the comfortable red-brown leather coat she had given him for his name day. His eyes landed on her instantly when he opened the flap of their tent. She sat in the same place he’d left her, back turned to him with her head down, rocking back and forth in tiny increments. Her hands were clasped tightly around something in her lap. A staff? It was a bit rough-hewn, but for a piece of woodwork having been done in less than a day, it was well crafted.

Little whispers emanated from her as she rocked. As he padded toward her as quietly as his large body was capable of, the Elvhen became a bit clearer. He didn’t know what it meant, but after his years in the Chantry, he gleaned from the cadence and fervor of her words that it was a prayer. He came around to face her, but seeing that her eyes were fastened shut so hard the rest of her face compacted toward them, he seated himself beside her. He watched her, their legs both crossed before them, resting on the soft grass near the burial grounds. The faint sound of a nearby waterfall echoed under her chants. Her knuckles were white with her grip on the staff, fingernails likely gouging tiny crescents into the wood.

Suddenly, Halise’s hand shot out to grab his. Her eyes were still shut tightly, but her recitative rhythm waivered and wobbled. Her voice cracked and squeaked preceding her first gruff sob. Tears began to fall from her downcast eyes into the gently waving blades of grass beneath them. Her lips trembled against the full display of her anguish, until she let herself fall into it. With a quiet whimper, she began to bawl. Her shoulders slumped over roughly before she folded inward, encasing the staff between her shuddering torso and her neatly folded legs. The long red tendrils of her hair swept and settled in the greenery.

Cullen kept a tight grip on her hand, rounding behind her to kneel and wrap his arm between her waist and the staff. His forehead rested in the back of her hair as he pressed himself against her. He had no idea how long they remained that way before her weeping subsided, though his knees ached against the hard dirt under the flattened grass. Still, he didn’t move until she did, tugging lightly at his hand to encourage him to face her.

Halise’s nose and eyes were tinged with scarlet, and her face bore every sign of complete weariness. Dark circles had seated themselves deeply under her eyes, her ordinarily dusky pink lips now pale and dry. Cullen pulled her gently to him, supporting her when her legs slid out to the side of her so she could rest against his shoulder. They sat like that for some time, Cullen stroking her hair while her breathing calmed.

Not long after Halise regained her composure, a short caravan crested the nearby hills. Silvery halla with delicate twisting horns that resembled Halise’s vallaslin pulled wooden, boat-like houses—aravels, she’d called them. Several men and women traveled on foot, wearing loose tunics belted at their waists, not entirely unlike Halise’s favored attire. Cullen looked at her as she watched them, her face very nearly unreadable save for the hint of fear in her eyes. She stood tall in the breeze, holding the oak staff—though perhaps it was holding her.

From around the back of one of the aravels appeared a tall, read-headed man. The closer the clan got, the more unmistakable the man’s features grew. His mouth was the same shape as hers, his eyes the same fluorescent green. The front of his hair was tied back neatly, but the shoulder-length locks held the same loose curl as hers. His vallaslin were different, like the plentiful branches of a tree over his forehead and along his cheekbones. This was her father.

When they had drawn close enough, a small smile curled her father’s lips. Halise’s body loosened with a heavy sob of relief before she ran to him. They locked in an embrace, swaying back and forth with the momentum of their affections. Cullen was nervous, but more than that, he was grateful that Halise’s father had welcomed her so warmly. He didn’t perceive what she’d done as abandonment. He didn’t bear a grudge against her for her work as Inquisitor.

She held her father’s hand, walking him back over to where Cullen stood. He stiffened at their approach, unsure of what to do beyond how to greet him according to Halise. “Baba,” she began softly, looking from her father to him, “this is Commander Cullen Rutherford.” Then, looking from him to her father, she said, “Cullen, this is my father, Revassan.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Cullen replied stiffly, instinctively holding out his open hand. Revassan stared at him for a moment before slowly reaching out to clasp his forearm in greeting, sending a shockwave of tentative relief through Cullen’s body.

“Andaran atish’an, Commander Cullen Rutherford,” Revassan said. “I should thank you for your diligence in protecting my daughter for all of these months.” He crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head in a way so similar to Halise it was jarring. Up close, the ring in his green eyes was visible, though it was not yellow like hers, but icy blue.

“I must confess, she has done most of the protecting herself. Your daughter is extremely skilled on the battlefield.” Cullen could feel the sweat building in his palms before he mirrored Revassan’s crossed arms, trying to keep a bit looser to avoid seeming closed off.

At that her father smiled softly, looking at her and placing his hand on her shoulder. “Her clan has taught her well. We are very proud of her and the strides she has made for the Dalish with the shem.”

“I can assure you, sir, we are all very proud of her,” Cullen replied with a smile of his own, trying to be respectful in the only way he knew.

“I thank you for escorting her for this, but we must take our leave. My falon’saota must be laid to rest before nightfall. I assure you, she is in good hands with her family.” Revassan turned to leave, his hand still on Halise’s shoulder, pulling her to go with him.

Her brow creased. She pulled back toward Cullen. “No. Baba, wait. I need Cullen to come with me.”

“Halise, you are well protected with us. Your Commander can stay out here while we complete the burial ceremony. This is sacred ground.” He was trying to remain patient, but irritation touched his voice.

“Baba, you don’t understand. Is mir vhenan, Baba. Cullen mir vhenan. Ar lath ish,” she said determinedly. Cullen understood “vhenan,” and “lath.” She was telling her father about them.

“What?” Revassan asked. He didn’t seem angry, just confused. “Ma lath ish?”

“Yes, Baba.” She stepped over to Cullen, lacing her fingers with his before looking back at her father hopefully.

Revassan’s face bore a pensive expression. Cullen clutched at Halise’s hand as if holding on in the face of an immense tidal wave, afraid he would be swept away from her forever in that moment. She held fast under her father’s unyielding gaze.

“Are you certain?” he finally asked, face unchanged.

“Yes.”

“And you, Commander? What are your feelings for Halise?”

Cullen’s stomach twisted under the fear of improperly conveying his love to Revassan. He decided simply to say what was in his heart and hope that it would be enough. “I love Halise more than anything or anyone in the world. She is the air in my lungs. I would lay down my life before causing her even an ounce of sorrow, and I would not survive without her. She is my vhenan.” His tone was firm, despite the tumult within him.

Revassan eyed him critically, as if attempting to drill into the depths of his soul. This stare apparently lasted too long for Halise. “Baba…” she murmured, pleading with her father to answer with his blessings.

Finally, he spoke. “Alright,” he said. “If you two truly love each other as you say, and make each other whole and happy, you have my blessing.”

Halise sighed heavily before rushing back over to her father to pull him into a tight embrace, weeping gratitude into his neck. Revassan beckoned to Cullen before they began their walk into the burial grounds. The clan allowed Cullen to assist in digging Halise’s mother’s grave, and the work was done faster for it.

Two men, Revassan, and Halise removed her mother’s body from one of the aravels. Even in death, she was lovely. Her silver hair was braided over her shoulder, and a small smile seemed to tug at her lips. Her vallaslin was a reddish arrow that extended from her chin, over her mouth and up to her hair line. Tears fell quietly from Halise and Revassan’s eyes as they carried her into her grave. They set her down into the damp, shaded earth reverently. Revassan placed a final kiss onto his wife’s forehead before they stepped out of the hole.

Halise placed the staff she had carved alongside her mother, as did her father. Then she set a small cedar branch under her mother’s hands.

“Ar lath ma, Dianisamahl,” Revassan murmured. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Tears still streaming down her face and clutching her father’s hand as well as Cullen’s, Halise began to sing softly.

 

_Hahren na melana sahlin_

_Emma ir abelas_

_Souver'inan isala hamin_

_Vhenan him dor'felas_

_In uthenera na revas_

_Vir sulahn'nehn_

_Vir dirthera_

_Vir samahl la numin_

_Vir lath sa'vunin_

 

“Ar lath ma, Mamae,” she whispered after completing the song.

When Dianisamahl’s body was buried, seeds were pushed into the dirt over her. “Felgara da’adahl,” Revassan said, holding his palm flat against the soil. He and Halise shared one more tearful embrace before everyone turned to leave the burial grounds.

Their meal together that evening began somberly, but evolved into an unexpectedly laughter-filled occasion. Everyone shared stories of Dianisamahl’s laugh and beautiful voice and love for her daughters. Halise seemed to relax in the company of her kin, even under the worst circumstances. Cullen appreciated the warm embrace and graciousness he’d been offered by her clansmen, suddenly understanding how she became the woman that he loved with his entire being.

When they finally crawled into bed after the heart-wrenching day, Halise curled up against him. She wasn’t her ordinary joyous self, but neither was she filled with the same sorrow he had seen that morning. This had helped her, and Cullen had been there for her, just as he had sworn.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she cooed sleepily into his neck.

“Ar lath ma,” he repeated. He did. With every breath left in his body for all his life, however long, he did.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> You may recognize the song. Apparently it is a funereal song sung by the Dalish. You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAANKFPchtA).
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, comments/con-crit are welcome.
> 
> Come on over to my [tumblr](kaoruyogi.tumblr.com) and talk it up with me if you'd like!


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